


Checkmate

by KH310-S (Author_of_Kheios)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Androids Are Orphans/Foster Kids, Crimes & Criminals, Drama & Romance, Gangs, Multi, Tags Are Hard, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/KH310-S
Summary: Being orphaned at a young age led to a troubled past for Markus, but an assault charge leads to a chance for the sixteen-year-old to start fresh at a new school with a new life full of new possibilities with new people in a new city. Everything's new, including his attitude toward life, and maybe he can finally do things that normal teenagers do, like making friends. It's a start anyway, and a hopeful one at that. All he can hope for now is that nothing ruins the life he's beginning to love.





	1. We've Got History

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my friends! Welcome, or welcome back! If you've read _Tread Softly and Carry a Big Gun_ (currently on hiatus), you know how this works. For those of you who are new, allow me to elucidate: I am a believer in engagement of the audience, so if you have any suggestions or ideas that you'd like to see in this story, comment them and I'll do my utmost to include them in future chapters! I don't anticipate _Checkmate_ being very long, but that's how I felt about _Tread Softly_ and it currently stands at 100+ chapters and counting, so who knows. The important thing is that I am in desperate need of more DBH fanfiction written by my own hand, so it will be written. With a little luck, you'll like it too, so I'll end the housekeeping here and let you begin the story; give kudos, bookmark it, sub to it, leave a comment, and above all, enjoy!

“Check and mate!” I smirk, not even bothering to hit the timer after moving my bishop into position. Carl chuckles, sitting back in his wheelchair and folding his hands in his lap, a signal of surrender.

“That's the third time this week,” he notes, sounding proud. “You're getting better.”

“Thanks to you,” I grin, delighted. “Do you think I'm ready to... you know... compete?”

“I think...” He leans forward again, a glimmer in his old eyes that makes me excited. “You're gonna wipe the floor with them!”

I can't even speak; I jump up with a hoot, bursting with joy.

Three long months of learning and practicing and refining finally paid off; if Carl Manfred thinks I'm ready, I'm not letting anything stop me! I mean, the guy spends all his time either playing chess against himself or painting, so of course he's good at both.

“Someone's excited,” a pleasant female voice teases, startling me. A tall, pretty black woman in a nurse's outfit with her dark curls pulled back from her face stands at Carl's shoulder, smiling warmly.

“Oh, hi Orchid,” I greet sheepishly. “Sorry; was I too loud?”

“Just a little,” she giggles. “But that's not why I'm here; it's time for Mr. Manfred's shower.”

“Right; sorry.” I reach out to Carl, still bursting at the seams with excitement. “Wish me luck?”

“You don't need luck, Markus,” he humphs, amused. “Just keep a level head, like I taught you. Bring a trophy by next time you visit, kid.” He takes my hand and uses it to pull me into a half-hug that I don't hesitate to return.

“Soon as I win one,” I promise, giving him a little extra squeeze before pulling away. “See ya, Orchid!”

“Scram, brat,” she grins, swatting playfully at me. I duck out of reach and scurry away, laughing.

Sundays are my favourite days. Sure, there's homework, but if I divide it half on Saturday and half on Sunday, I can usually get it all done by Monday. And better? I just finished my community service hours last week, which means my Saturdays are now free to do all my homework, which in turn means my Sundays are now completely free, except my chess practice with Carl.

I met Carl a couple months ago as an alternative to juvie; as an orphan getting close to aging out, things weren't exactly easy for me, and I was almost always in some kind of trouble. The first few stints of community service I'd had to pay in exchange for not going to juvie were pretty much pointless, and once they were over, I was right back to where I started: bitter and looking for shit to start. After a B&E turned into an assault and battery charge ― not my fault ― Judge Fowler finally cracked down and told me I had two choices; I could change schools (I hardly cared about that since I was almost never in class anyway), join a program that paired me up with someone in the local old folks home, and do some more community service hours, but at a prison (I guess to show me what I was becoming or something), _or_... I could go straight to juvie for as long as Judge Fowler could manage to make my sentence.

Guess which one I chose.

I mean, really though, was it even a choice? That assault stuff scared the crap out of me; it was not at all what I'd signed up for, and if we hadn't gotten caught, I might even have turned myself in.

So, I moved schools, hooked up with none other than Carl Manfred, a local legend in painting who could no longer take care of himself after an accident took his legs and abuse of drugs and alcohol aged him far faster than life had, and started working more community service hours, at the prison. Things didn't go well at the beginning, which was to be expected, but Judge Fowler had assigned the local police chief, Hank Anderson, to make sure I behaved, and though the guy clearly has a heart of gold, he's also a damn hardass at times, so he kept me straight.

Now, I'm actually kinda loving my life; Carl has vastly improved because of our time together, according to Orchid, and has even started painting professionally again, and I've been learning all kinds of things from him that have slowly been changing my view of the world. Of course, community service at the prison has helped with that too; I don't want to end up like those guys.

Surprisingly, though, the best part is actually school. Because I'm an orphan and still in the system, the government pays my tuition for public school, but Judge Fowler pulled a couple strings to get me into a slightly better school with a good athletics program and “encouraged” me to join a sport. I did, just to occupy myself, and now it's my favourite part of weekdays and Saturdays, when I practice basketball. Unfortunately, I joined too late in the season to play any games, but Coach Morgan said that if I join next year, he'll definitely work me into the starting lineup because I play so well during practice, and he coaxed me into joining baseball when it starts up after the season ends. I have to keep my grades up, of course, and for a while it was a struggle, but I've gotten used to it now, and while it can be a little difficult sometimes to understand the material, I get the work done every time, which keeps my grades just above average, and that's all I need.

And, now that my prison hours are over and I finished all my homework yesterday after practice, I now have the rest of today free.

I suppose I could use it to try and find a job, like Judge Fowler suggested when he reviewed my service hours.

Actually, that sounds like a great idea; I can't sign up for the local chess tournament until tomorrow ― I'll have to cut my lunch break short, or else try to squeeze it in between last period and b-ball.

Hiking my backpack up on my shoulder, I pick a direction and start walking; in a city like this, I'm bound to find a “help wanted” sign eventually if I just keep walking.

At first, I don't notice it because I've got my earbuds in, enjoying the hell out of _Wrong Side of Heaven_ by Five Finger Death Punch. No pun intended. But I happen to catch a glimpse of movement down the alley I just passed, just as I get around the corner, and I backtrack a couple steps to check it out, pulling out a bud.

A couple older guys ― seniors, I think, or college freshman ― are ganging up on a lone guy with blonde hair and a slight build. The movement that caught my attention was the flurry of an auburn braid as one single girl burst onto the scene and decked the bully holding the blonde guy. Now she's standing over him, popping her knuckles and sneering down at him.

“Pick on someone your own size, asshole!” she snaps. I'm already dropping my bag and running over when one of the other guys grabs her shoulder and shoves her against the wall, and I reach them just in time to stop the third guy from helping his buddy when she rams her knee into his groin and headbutts him like a savage. The guy I caught swings at me, but I've been in my share of street brawls, and I duck it easily, stepping in and ramming my elbow into his chest. He staggers backward, running into the guy whose nose is now gushing blood, and they trip over themselves trying to stay on their feet.

“Let's get out of here, man!”

“That's North and the new guy!”

And then they're gone, dragging their third with them. The auburn haired girl, who I assume is North, flips them a couple of birds as they go.

“Yeah, run, fuckers!” she shouts after them. “Next time I won't let you off so easy! Jackasses...” Completely ignoring me, she turns to the blonde guy, who's crouched by the wall with his hands over his face. “You okay, Si?”

He looks up, and I wince sympathetically at the major black eye already forming, and the double split on one side of his mouth. Blood is trickling from his nose too, but not so much that it might be broken or anything.

“Ow... Those guys really did a number on you, didn't they?” I grimace. “What did they want?”

“Back off, Superman,” North scoffed, giving me a disgusted once over. “Just because you stepped in doesn't make us friends or anything.”

“It's okay, North,” Si says, touching her arm and then promptly dissolving in a coughing fit.

“Did they get your ribs?” I ask, respectfully keeping my distance. “You might need to go to the hospital.”

“He's fine,” North snips. “He's got asthma. Where's your inhaler, Si?”

“Do- don't need it,” Si manages between coughs, and finally takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “I'm okay; no problem.”

“No problem?” North scowls at him, hands on her hips. “If you weren't so beat up already, I'd knock some sense into you; you're supposed to have your inhaler on you at all times! Did you leave it behind again? You're damn lucky Josh went back for his history homework!” Yanking a cellphone from her pocket, she fires off a quick text and jumps right back into her rant. “You can't keep leaving it behind, you moron! And where the hell were you? I was even on time and you weren't at the library!”

She keeps shouting at him, and he just calmly stands up and dusts off his clothes, checking for blood and pinching his nose to keep anymore from getting on them.

I have to admit, he's pretty resilient for an asthmatic kid.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” North demands suddenly, glaring at me, arms crossed and shifting her weight to get between me and Si.

“Just making sure he's alright,” I shrug, mildly amused by her protectiveness.

“He's fine; go away.”

“North, chill,” Si chuckles softly, sounding a little weird because of the pinched nose. Glancing at his free hand to make sure there's no blood on it, he holds it out to me. “Thanks for the help. My name's Simon. That's North. It's not her real name, but it's all we get, so...”

“You can't be serious,” North exclaims, staring at him in disbelief while I shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Simon,” I smile lightly. “Wish it was under better circumstances. I'm-”

“The new kid; we know,” North interrupts, cutting me a dark look.

“Markus, right?” Simon smiles warmly. “Yeah, we know.”

“Everybody knows,” North grumbles. “Josh won't shut up about you.”

“Josh?” I cock my head at them.

“He said he knows you, from Chicago,” Simon nods. “Come on; he’ll probably be waiting at the library by the time we get there.”

“Are you- forget it,” North huffs, shaking her head. “I give up.”


	2. The Same Taste in Music

I drop my phone when I go to open the library door for Simon and North, and promptly miss when I go to catch it, somehow knocking it straight into North's hands. Fortunately, she catches it. Not so fortunately, my worn out earbuds break in the process.

“Ah shit...” I shove the pieces of the earbuds into my pocket before taking the phone from North, who holds it out wordlessly.

“Ooh, bad luck,” Simon winces.

“You say that like you're not the one with a black eye and a bloody nose,” I point out sarcastically, smirking at him as he passes. He give a breathy chuckle and heads straight for the bathroom.

“I'll be right out.”

“Here.” North pushes a coiled set of earbuds into my hand and heads for the back of the fiction section. I hesitate for a moment, surprised, and then hurry after her.

“You don’t have to-”

“Just take the stupid headphones,” she says shortly, cutting me off and glancing down the aisles as she passes. “Keep ‘em; I don’t like how they sound anyway.” She reverses course and heads down an aisle, and I just stand there for a long moment, staring at the coil in my hand.

I get it. She’s, ah... What’s the term? Tsundere. She doesn’t like to admit just how kind she really is.

I like her.

Stifling a smile, I uncoil the earbuds and plug them into my phone, tucking it into my pocket and draping the cord around my neck as I go down the aisle after her. When I come out on the other end, I stop and do a double take.

“Holy hell, Markus, it really is you!” Dark skin, vibrant brown eyes, and a wicked grin greet me when he stands from the cluster of beanbags.

I’d know that grin anywhere.

“Josh? No way. Damn, dude, you grew up!” I can’t help grinning back as I step forward, arms out for a hug that he returns with a laugh.

“So did you, man; look at you!” He pulls back, looking me up and down. “You’re a man and a half already; I’m totally fucking jealous.”

“You say that like you don’t look like a graduate already,” I chuckled, scrubbing at his cropped black fuzz. He swats my hand away, snorting.

“Sure, whatever. How ya been, dude? Have a seat; let’s talk.”

“From what I hear,” I tease, settling into a beanbag across from North, “that’s all you’ve been doing since I moved to town.”

“Can you blame me?” Josh laughs, dropping into the beanbag next to me. “Everybody wants to know about you, wants to be your friend...” He eyes me up and down again, and I brace myself for what I know is coming. “Heard you came this close to juvie for assault. That true?”

“...Man, I don’t wanna talk about the past,” I say as casually as I can, taking interest in a smudge of lint on my jeans so I don’t have to look at him for a second while I get myself straightened out inside. “It’s a new city, new school... I’m starting a new life, you know?”

“Markus is turning over a new leaf?” Josh’s brows raise in surprise. “Wow. Guess miracles do happen.”

“You’re an asshole, Josh,” North scoffs before I can, taking the words straight out of my mouth.

“Are you being mean again, Josh?” Simon joins us, leaning past me to poke at Josh’s shoulder before taking a seat two away from me and one away from North.

“I’m no- Holy shit; what the hell happened?” Josh leans forward, staring at Simon. “Are you okay? Who did this?” He cuts a sharp look at me, and I try not to let it get to me.

“Relax, Josh,” Simon soothes with a gentle smile. “It was Allen and his buddies. Markus actually helped me.”

“What am I, a fly on the wall?” North demands, offended, making his smile widen. He reaches across to take her hand and squeeze gratefully.

“Thank you for coming to my aid, my knight in shining armour,” he says playfully, which earns him a smack on the arm even though she can’t contain a smile of her own.

“Allen’s the real asshole,” Josh mutters, slumping in his beanbag chair and scowling. “Bastard picks on anyone without parents.”

“Without parents?” I echo, glancing at North and Simon. “You guys are orphans too?”

“Foster kids,” North corrects, humour vanishing. “You’re an orphan?”

“...Yeah.” No sense in lying. “Always have been. Abandoned as a baby on the steps of a church next door to the orphanage.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon says softly, gaze falling to his lap. “My, um... My mother was an addict. _Is_ an addict. Last time I saw her was in seventh grade.”

“Sounds like you’ve had it worse than me,” I murmur without thinking.

An awkward silence falls for a moment, and I feel like I’m intruding in a place where I have no right to be. Just when I’m about to fake some excuse to leave, Simon speaks up again, making an effort to include me.

“What were you listening to?” he asks hesitantly. “Before your headphones broke, I mean.” He gestures aimlessly toward my neck. “I see North gave you hers...”

“Yeah...” I glance at North, whose gaze narrows, like she’s daring me to thank her. I clear my throat and answer the question instead. “Wrong Side of Heaven. It’s, um... It’s one my favourite songs by...”

“By Five Finger Death Punch,” North says with me, brightening now and leaning forward.

“Oh God, now there’s two of them,” Josh groans. North throws him a nasty look and then pins me with an intense stare.

“Do you listen to Disturbed too?” she asks, surprisingly eager. I can’t stop a grin from tugging at my lips in amusement.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I prefer Five Finger Death Punch because there’s more meaning behind the lyrics, in my opinion; more of a driving emotion, if that makes sense.”

“Theory of a Deadman?” North presses. “Shinedown? Avenged Sevenfold?”

“A little bit, yes, and yes,” I say, fully grinning now. “Apocalyptica?”

“Fuck yes,” she smirks, sitting back. “I like you.”

“That was easier than I expected,” I chuckle.

“It always is,” Simon grins. “You just have to impress her, and everyone tries to impress her with the wrong things.”

“Shut up,” North mutters, rolling her eyes, but there's a faint blush in her cheeks that I definitely find cute. Really, she’s just cute in general, but I’ll be fucked before I say it to her face.

“Understandable,” I say lightly. “But I think it's a good thing; if someone doesn't know what to do to impress you, then they don't really want to be your friend, plain and simple.”

“See?” Josh exclaims, throwing up his hands. “That's what _I_ said!”

“Oh fuck off,” North scoffs, flipping him the bird, but still blushing.

“What?” Josh says innocently, just as North's phone buzzes. “I'm just saying...”

“I have to go,” North mutters suddenly after checking her phone. Standing, she shoves the phone back in her pocket and grabs Simon's shoulder. “You should probably put some ice on your eye pretty soon, and make sure you have your inhaler on you, got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” Simon teases meekly.

“Don't make me be the one to kick your ass,” she retorts, hiding a smile. “Josh...?”

“Got it, right here.” He was digging through his bag and now holds out a bright green inhaler for Simon to take. “Take care, North; see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” And just like that, she's gone.

“What was that about?” I ask hesitantly, glancing between Simon and Josh. “Who...?”

“Don't ask,” Josh cuts in, giving me the most foreboding look I've seen on someone's face since Judge Fowler was about to change my life for good. “Trust me, Markus, you don't want to know.”

That does not bode well, and I don't like it, at all.

“And if I do?” I coax warily. Simon sighs, shaking his head.

“Then you need to hear it from North herself.”


	3. First Day of (Drama) School

“Hey, Markus!” I didn't realise anyone was calling me until they get right up next to me, and I quickly yank my earbuds out, startled.

“Oh, Josh, hey,” I greet, pausing my music and hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder. “Sorry; didn't hear you.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he grins, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Listening to more of that Metallica stuff?”

“It's not Metallica,” I chuckle. “I don't like Metallica; it's Five Finger Death Punch, and yes, there is a difference. And for your information, I'm actually listening to Maroon 5 right now.”

“Ooh, like... Animals? I love that song.”

“Nah, man; their older stuff is better. I was just listening to Shiver. I like the old fashioned pop feel to it.”

“Ugh... Don't tell me you're in Mrs. Thompson's music theory class,” he groans, making a face.

“You have classes with Mrs. Thompson?” I ask, confused. “How come I never see you around school?”

“A and B sections,” Josh answers easily. “The entire school is split into two sections and they rotate floors so the teachers aren't overwhelmed with four and five dozen high schoolers at a time. Add to that the fact that there's like, three different curricula and it's no surprise we haven't crossed paths. I'm sophomore A, with maths and sciences Monday and Wednesday, English and history Tuesday and Thursday, and extracurriculars on Friday. If I remember right, you're sophomore B, with English and history Monday and Thursday, maths and sciences Tuesday and Friday, and extracurriculars on Wednesday.”

“Are you stalking me or something?” I tease, despite being impressed. He laughs.

“Nah, dude; like I said, there's only three curricula, and no offense, but there's no way you qualify for the honours course.”

“I take full offense to that,” I deadpan. He gives me a sceptical look and rolls his eyes.

“Sure whatever.”

“So what's wrong with Mrs. Thompson's music theory class?” I ask as we pause just inside the front entrance of the school, where it's clear we go different ways.

“Oh, nothing really,” he says, shifting back and forth on his feet. “I mean, as a class it's awesome; the stuff is easy to learn, and Mrs. Thompson makes it even easier.”

“So...?”

“I just don't like music theory.”

“Dumbass,” I scoff, grinning at him. “Hey, where do you eat lunch?”

“Far end of the Plaza,” he answers with his own grin, “North likes the corner.”

“Cool; see you at lunch!” We wave at each other as he heads upstairs and I go down the hall to my first period.

――

Simon catches me just outside the chess club room.

“Chess?” he says as a greeting, an amused smile on his lips.

“Don't tell anyone,” I warn, feigning seriousness. “I may be nice now, but I still have a reputation to maintain.”

“A reputation?” he echoes, amusement growing. “For coming this close to being a juvie kid?”

“Well when you put it like that,” I grin. “Heading to lunch?”

“Yeah, coming?”

“Just a sec.” Ducking into the club room, I manage to get a minute with the teacher to ask about local chess tournaments. After signing up for the preliminaries ― technically I'm too late, but accidentally mentioning Carl convinces the teacher to make an exception, but only if I promise to join the club ― I hurry back into the hall, half expecting Simon to have gone on ahead of me. But there he is, standing just beside the door and texting someone.

“Part of the club now?” he asks without looking up.

“Yeah... I just wanted to sign up for the tournament, but Dr. Day made me join.” I lean close, peeking at his screen. “Who you texting?”

“North,” he says easily, sending the message and locking his screen before I can really see what the conversation is about. “Ready for lunch?”

“Starving,” I agree, following him.

“Guess I'll be seeing more of you than I already do,” he hums after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Geometry,” he answers simply. “Creative Writing. Chemistry. World History. And now chess.”

“...Hold on; we have the same classes?” I almost run into the wall as we turn a corner, and he laughs, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder to steady me.

“Yes. Not that you'd notice anyone at the back of the room when you sit front and centre.”

“I get distracted easily,” I explain, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

“Not judging you,” he smiles. “I sit at the back so I won't be noticed by the bullies or called on by the teacher; everyone already calls me a know-it-all, so I'm trying to avoid getting the teacher's pet label too.”

“Know-it-all?” I cock a teasing brow at him. “So you're a nerd, huh?”

“I... er, yeah, I guess.” He's got the pinkest blush I've ever seen on a guy, and if I wasn't already planning on getting with North, I'd flirt with him just to see how bright I could make it.

“Good, ‘cause I need help with Chemistry and World History if I wanna stay in sports.” He stops in front of the door to the Plaza, blocking my way, and faces me with a surprisingly defiant look that makes the blush a little less noticeable.

“What's in it for me?” he demands. “Or do you just assume that because you helped chase off some bullies that I owe you something?”

“Wh- Huh?” I'm so confused. “What are you- What? Wait, Simon-!” Too late; he's already halfway across the Plaza, and North and Josh look annoyed long before I catch up.

“The hell did you say to him?” North demands, giving me a dark look as she makes room for Simon to squeeze in between her and Josh, who immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders and murmurs something in his ear.

“That's what I'd like to know!” I exclaim, still perplexed.

“I'm not talking to him,” Simon hisses to Josh, whose brows raise in surprise as he glances over to North. The two share a look, and then North stands crossing her arms and staring me down in spite of the two inches I hold over her.

“I don't care who you are or what music you like; you insulted Simon. You have five seconds to turn around and walk away before I kick your ass.”

Well, shit. Just when I thought the months of loneliness were over... Damn it.

"Look, it wasn't on purpose," I try, hoping to at least get an explanation. "Could you just...?"

"Five." The steely look in her eyes says she's really gonna go ballistic on me if I don't leave, so I've got four seconds to make my case.

"I don't know what I said wrong, Simon, but I will apologise-"

"Four!"

"-until I'm blue in the face if I have to. I don't have friends here; without the three of you-"

"Three!"

"-I'm alone, and I'm okay with that, but not if it means leaving things like this."

"Two!" North makes a threatening move toward me, and I stare back at her, undaunted.

"I'm going. But I'll be back tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, until you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it."

" _ONE._ " I step back, still meeting her fierce gaze, and then back again before turning around and walking away with whatever dignity I have left.


	4. Press On

Another three weeks pass alone. As promised, I go to their corner of the Plaza every day and apologise to Simon. First for saying stupid things, then for speaking without thinking, then for insulting him, then for saying anything that could even be considered insulting... At one point, I even apologised for apologising so much. That drew a reluctant grin from all three of them, but still no luck.

"I don't know what to do," I tell Carl, pacing his room while he paints. I'm supposed to be doing the Geometry homework I couldn't finish yesterday, but after I struggled with yet another problem and Carl suggested I get help from my classmates, I accidentally started ranting.

"Besides apologise?" he teases, glancing up from his oils with a small, wicked grin.

"Obviously," I grunt, giving him a dry look. "I don't even know what I said that was so offensive to begin with!"

"It doesn't have to be offensive, Markus," he hums, adding a smudge of blue to his painting. "Not generally speaking, anyway; it could be personally offensive, something that only matters to this boy... Silas, was it?"

"Simon," I correct absently, stopping my paces to lean against his dresser and picking up a blown-glass paperweight with a little galaxy inside. "Like what?"

"Well, when I was your age, I got a lot of compliments about my drawing skills." Without looking away from his canvas, he points at a pile of sketchbooks beside me. I've seen some of them before, but I pick up one again, trading it for the paperweight, and flip through the phenomenal pieces inside while he continues his story. "They were harmless comments on my abilities, encouraging even, or so they thought. At home, my father tried to beat it out of me on occasion, when the drink became too much for his thin self-control. He thought it made me weak, a faggot kid who would never survive the world if he didn't toughen me up, or so he said."

"Were you?" I ask suddenly, abruptly curious. "Er, are you? Gay, I mean."

"No," Carl shrugs, squeezing a dot of pale green onto his palette and smudging it with the bright blue before dabbing the mix carefully onto his canvas. "There was a time of questioning, of course, but that's not important. My point is... I hated those compliments because my father thought it was wrong, and if my father thought it was wrong, then it had to be. Maybe Simon harbours some quiet, inner fear of tutoring his classmates for a similar reason."

"He's an orphan," I point out, setting the sketchbook down. "No father to disappoint. Ah! His mother's still around, just... not in the picture."

"It doesn't have to be family," Carl chuckles, cleaning his brush and giving me a look that makes my chest feel full and happy. "It could be past experiences, with friends even. There are a lot of bad things going on in the world, and not many people are able to handle it without being scarred."

"I know," I say solemnly.

"Good. Go talk to Simon tomorrow." Carl adds one last touch to the painting and nods his satisfaction, setting his tools aside. "Instead of apologising, try listening." He gestures me over to look at the painting, and I think I forget how to breathe for a moment. "Well?"

It's like looking in a mirror. A mirror that shows the older, more confident, more mature version of whoever looks at it.

"I think," I manage past the lump of raw emotion in my throat, "if I become even a fraction of the man you portrayed me as... I'll be ten times the man I deserve to be."

――

The hardest part about all of this is that even in class, now that I know where Simon sits, I can try to catch his eye as many times as I want, and he'll still ignore me. And I tried waiting for him after class once, but he wedged himself into the back of a group and managed to get away before I could get him alone.

Today, I don't even look at him. Not in any class. I pay attention to the teacher, and I focus on my notes. Then, when lunch comes around, I go as quickly as I can to the corner of the Plaza, just beating Josh there.

"Haven't you given up yet?" he sighs, annoyed, as he stands there with his tray and silently debates sitting in his spot anyway.

"No," I answer as lightly as I can, even though my stomach sits heavy in my gut and I doubt I can eat anything today. "Aren't we friends, Josh?"

"...I can't answer that," he says reluctantly, after a long, terse pause. "We _were_ friends first, but I've known Simon longer; if I have to choose, I'm choosing him."

"So don't choose," I say immediately, trying to get a little more leverage to work with. "Help me make things right with Simon so it doesn't even come to a choice." He falters, and I'm about to press my advantage when an irritated voice breaks in.

"Josh, what the hell are you doing?" North stands by with Simon, who looks uneasy, and maybe it's my imagination, but he almost looks a little bit sick.

"I... nothing," Josh answers quickly. "I was trying to get him to leave."

"Butt out, Markus," she orders sharply, setting her tray firmly on the table and gesturing for Simon to sit on the side opposite of me.

"What makes you think," I ask persistently, "after three and a half weeks of coming around and apologising for everything under the sun, that I'm going to leave, just like that?"

"Markus..." she growls in warning, giving me a glare that would have buried me twice if looks could kill.

"No, I have the floor," I cut in, tired of being shut down. "I want to be your friend, all of you, but I can't do a damned thing to fix whatever I did if I don't know what I'm supposed to fix. So I'm done apologising, but I'm not done coming around every day. I'm going to keep hanging around until you decide you're willing to tell me what I said wrong and why it was a problem. And then I'm going to do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, to make up for it."

I hold my breath, waiting for their response, but no one says anything. Josh glances uneasily between us, waiting for North's reaction, and she watches me narrowly for several long seconds before wordlessly sitting down and digging in. Simon cautiously follows suit, and finally, Josh does the same. No one speaks, but no one tries to run me off this time, and I count that as a win.

This may take a while, but I can already tell it's worth the wait; if I've learned one thing from my time getting into trouble, it's that loyalty is hard to come by, and worth more than gold.


	5. We're Still Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I managed to write another chapter for this after the latest chapter for Tread Softly in, like, two hours. It's late and I should be asleep and I'm here writing feelsies after midnight when I have things to do in the morning.... I hope you all suffer through this as much as I did.
> 
>  
> 
> _I'm joking; please don't suffer_

Another week. I easily win the preliminary rounds to qualify for the chess tournament, and though I didn’t get to see his games, Simon does too; it makes me inordinately happy that we’re both in the tournament together. Josh ‘bumps into me’ in the library during study hall ― I strongly suspect he sought me out ― and we sit together, studying wordlessly at the same table.

In the second week, even North has found some way to give me a little bit of her time, passing me a water bottle after a grueling assessment to determine who joins the baseball team and who’s just back up; first and second string.

She’s an excellent player, actually. Lithe body with an impossibly tiny strike zone, a surprising amount of upper body strength and accuracy, and damn if she doesn’t run like the wind. It’s no surprise when Coach Morgan lists her as first string for the girl’s team; also no surprise but still pleasant to hear my own name in first string for the guy’s team.

The following Saturday, I probably butcher my homework, but I get it all done quickly and in high spirits, and I decide to try something I’ve been considering for weeks but haven’t gotten the courage to actually try yet: I pick up a Number 2 pencil and lay it almost parallel to the paper, holding it from the top the way I’ve seen Carl hold his pencils ― his pencils are actually meant for this kind of thing, but I’ll make do with what I have for now.

For a long moment, I don’t know what to draw. I momentarily consider trying to draw Carl, but at my current level of skill, the result would probably be insulting. And after a few long seconds, I decide to hold back for right this minute and go ask Carl’s opinion first; after all, who better to ask about art than a famous artist himself?

When I arrive at the living centre, I stop at the front desk, as always, to sign in; usually I only come around on Sundays and Wednesdays, a carry-over from the first three months when two visits a week were required along with the community service hours. But today I’m in unusually high spirits, and I want to talk to Carl, so why not share some of my joy with him?

Except that when I go to sign my name on the sheet that Sally, the weekend desk clerk, hands me, I see that Carl already has a visitor. Leo Manfred.

Manfred. Couldn’t be his father, for obvious reasons, and as far as I know, he doesn’t have a brother. But he does have a son, if I remember right. This must be him.

Curious and eager to meet Leo, I add my name to the line below his, quickly scrawling down the check in time and shoving the sheet back at Sally with a hurried thanks. Then I walk as quickly as I’m allowed down the hall to Carl’s apartment. Just as I knock tentatively on the door, I hear a raised voice from inside.

“What the fuck, Dad?? It’s twenty fucking dollars! Like you’d even miss it; the government pays for your room and board, and you’re fucking rich anyway!”

I hear Carl’s voice as a murmur through the door, but I can’t make out the words, so I carefully, quietly, and ever so slowly crack open the door.

Carl is in front of his easel, but his attention is on the dark-haired young man glaring at him from across the room, fuming mad and rocking back and forth in a half-pace that I recognise immediately.

He’s an addict. I can’t tell to what, but I’d know the signs of withdrawal anywhere.

And of course I would; I’ve felt them.

“Twenty- Just twen- twenty bucks... What’s wrong w- What’s wrong with twenty goddamn bucks??” Leo almost shrieks, twitching constantly. I grimace in sympathy, but only until I remember who he’s screaming at.

I don’t even wait for Carl’s response; shoving open the door, I stride across and plant myself between Carl and his son, facing Leo with my arms crossed and my feet planted. I spent long enough with jokers like him that he doesn’t scare me, and I make sure he knows it with a stoic glare.

“Get out.” He doesn’t hear me at first. For a second or two, I don’t even think he registers my presence. Then he goes weirdly still, staring at me in blank surprise, like I materialised out of thin air. In his mind, I probably did.

“Markus...” Carl says softly, sounding heartbroken. The sound wrenches at my own heart and hate for the young man in front of me wells up; I’m not sure how I manage to keep from physically throwing his ass out of the room.

“Get _out_!” I repeat sharply, putting on my fiercest glower. “I don’t care who the hell you are; you do not get to talk to him like that. Get out, now! And don’t come back until you’re sober, junkie!” Leo’s jaw falls open in shock. He closes it. Opens it again. Closes it again.

Without a word, he takes his jacket from the foot of Carl’s bed and leaves the room, not even bothering to close the door as he goes. As soon as he’s out of sight, I spin around and drop to my knees beside Carl’s wheelchair.

“Are you okay?” I ask immediately, unable to hide my worry. I almost reach out to touch his arm, but stop myself, laying my hand on the arm of his chair instead. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Did he do anything to you?”

“I’m alright, Markus,” he assures, giving me a weak, tired smile and patting my hand gently. “That... That was my son.”

“I know,” I admit, hating the pit of unease in my stomach. “I mean, I guessed. I saw his name on the sign in sheet.” He nods, but doesn’t say anything else, clearly bothered, and I can only let the silence hang for a short moment. “He’s an addict, isn’t he? And he wanted money to feed his addiction.”

“...Yes,” Carl answers quietly, reluctant. “He has been, for far too long. I can’t stop him; I’m stuck... in this chair, in this home...” His grip on my hand tightens briefly, then slides away. He sighs. “I’ve failed him... So many times...”

“No.” I have to reject that, even just on principle. “No, you didn’t; there’s nothing you can do.”

“I know.” The pure anguish in his whisper almost tears me apart. It silences my tongue and rips at my chest, shredding me in places I didn’t know existed until this moment.

I want so badly to hug him, to hold him tight and try to squeeze away the pain. But I can’t. I’m just the kid who got out of juvie by spending some time with an old man.

The silence around us thickens with grief, and I wish I knew how to chase it away. In the end, it’s Carl who breaks it.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that, Markus,” he whispers, looking at me with sad eyes that are so, so old. So worn. So tired. “Will you... Will you still come by tomorrow?”

“Of course.” I don’t even need to think about it. “Of course I will. Every Sunday. Every Wednesday. Every Saturday too, if you want.”

“No; it’s alright. Sundays and Wednesdays.” He manages a smile for me. I manage a smile for him. As much as it hurts, I manage to stand and step back.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Sundays and Wednesdays.”


	6. Painting is Self-Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the title looks familiar, it's because I shuffled some titles around; this one better fits this chapter.

Orchid almost doesn't let me see Carl the next day. She tries to claim that he's too tired for visitors, and it takes promising that I'll just sit in the lobby all day to convince her to let me into his apartment.

"Hey, Carl," I greet, trying to stay as upbeat as usual. He looks back over his shoulder at me and smiles slightly from where he's sitting by the glass door to the patio that leads into the garden area of the property.

If you ask me, he got one of the best apartments in the building.

"Hey," he greets back, reaching down to unlock his wheels and turn toward me.

"Wanna play chess in the garden again?" I offer, not sure where we stand after yesterday.

"Too sunny," he hums, making my heart sink. "I had something else in mind."

"Oh?" I stifle my disappointment and force a calm smile of interest even though I could swear I'm about to cry.

God, when was the last time I wanted to cry so bad? Can't even remember.

"Come here," Carl says, beckoning me over to his easel. I go; I'll humour him whatever he wants today, and I just... won't show up on Wednesday. After all, it's not a requirement to come visit anymore, so I don't have to be here. Even though I want to, so much; I don't think I can handle being closed off again.

Then Carl pushes his palette, a tube of oil paint, and a brush into my hands, and suddenly I can't think at all.

"Wh-"

"Paint something," he says simply, waving a hand at the blank canvas.

He's got a whole bunch of canvases; it's not like I'd be wasting a limited resource. But still, I can't bring myself to even consider painting on Carl's canvas, with Carl's tools... certainly not in front of Carl himself.

"But, I..."

"Go on," he encourages, rolling his chair a bit to get a better vantage point and then locking the wheels. "I've seen the way you watch me paint; I know you're interested."

"No, I... I mean, yeah, I'm interested," I stammer uneasily. "In- In art, that is... Not... I can't..."

"It's okay," he smiles gently. "Just try it. Give it a test, mm? Humour an old man."

Well, put like that...

I take a breath and look at the canvas, trying to picture what I want to paint. What was it that Carl said the last time I asked him how he envisioned his work? Reach into your heart, find your deepest desires, and drag them up so you can guide them out of the brush.

My deepest desires? I have some, of course. But I don't know if I'm comfortable with putting them out there for everyone to see.

But maybe I don't have to... Not completely; not blatantly.

What colours signify loneliness? Blue, right? I check the various blues in Carl's box of paints and settle on three different pale shades. Then I grab black, a forest-y green, and a deep, royal purple. A few dots of each on the palette, and then some mixing; in a few moments, I'm ready to begin.

I hesitate, brush poised over the canvas.

Another deep breath. A slow, sweeping gesture.

And then I'm lost.

Everything inside me pours out all at once; I can't even begin to understand where it all comes from, but with every stroke, I see the picture taking shape before me.

Before I realise it, I'm finished.

It's not perfect, by any means; there are smudges where I don't want them, and the colours aren't quite what I wanted, nor does the image hold up to what was in my head. But it's done, and for a moment, I'm awkwardly proud of myself.

"Beautiful," Carl murmurs, shaking me from my stupor. I look down at him and find him smiling back at me, warm and proud. Joy explodes in my chest and I smile hopefully in return.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he assures. "You have a beautiful soul, Markus, always trying to come out. This is the first time I've seen it on full display." Embarrassment sets my neck on fire.

"It's a mess," I huff, looking back at the canvas and seeing all the glaring errors in high definition.

"I'm not talking about the painting," he says gently. "I'm talking about you. The painting is just an expression of you. A flawed expression because you lack the technical skills to do it properly. But even if you had the skill, it would still only be a small window into a small part of who you are. I'm talking about the look on your face, the way you light up from within, like nothing could ever hurt you. Your passion is infectious; you draw in the people around you just by letting yourself feel what you truly feel. The more you hide your emotions, the more subdued you become." He looks at the painting and gives a soft, sad sigh. "The more lonely you become."

"...You see it?" I ask timidly, glancing at him. His smile returns.

"Of course I see it. I may be old, but I'm hardly blind, my boy."

I drop the brush, smudging a bunch of black and purple paint across the hardwood.

"Oh my- I'm sorry," I blurt hastily, dropping to my knees and scooping up the brush so I can swipe up the biggest globs of paint with my already colourful fingers.

"It's alright," he chuckles, unlocking his wheels and moving back out of the way while I clean up. I keep my head down while I get a washcloth from the bathroom and properly clean the floor, despite his protests, so he doesn't see my flush of embarrassment.

I didn't realise before this moment how much I've been missing a father figure. I have to be careful; I don't want Carl to think I'm trying to replace Leo, especially after yesterday. Still, that doesn't mean I can't keep spending time with him, and just savour every moment I can get.


	7. Secrets are Made to be Found Out with Time

> _Text from: North  
-at library  
-wanna come?_

It’s been almost two months since I screwed up and insulted Simon, and they’ve let me hang around whenever I find them, but this is the first time I’ve been actively invited to anything. Honestly, I thought I was lucky enough to get their phone numbers in the first place.

< _sure, now?_

> _u got 5 min_

Five minutes to get from the orphanage to the library? Sounds like a challenge to me. I grab my bag and scamper downstairs, pausing by Miss Margaret’s office to let her know where I’m going before dodging an incoming family to grab my skateboard from behind the bush by the gate, where I keep it hidden from the younger kids when I’m not using it.

It’s not that I don’t trust them, per se, but I bought this with my own money ― earned by illegal means, but still ― and it’s one of the only things I can really claim as _mine_. Even my phone technically belongs to the orphanage, even though I’m allowed to use it for pretty much whatever.

I reach the library in six minutes, because an alley cat darted out in front of me and tripped me off my board on a hill and I had to go chasing it before it rolled away. Fortunately, North, Simon and Josh are still in the corner with the beanbag chairs when I hustle between the stacks.

“You’re late,” North notes pointedly, glancing up from her history book.

“Got attacked by a cat,” I shrug, dropping into a beanbag beside Josh, on the opposite side from Simon. “I’m lucky I made it here in one piece.” My joke is rewarded with a snicker from Josh and a small smile from Simon, but earns me a dark look from North.

“History,” she says, jabbing a finger at my bag. “We’re working on the World War One paper that’s due at the end of the week.” I glance at Simon, still recalling quite vividly what started this whole thing to begin with, but he keeps his gaze firmly on his book, scribbling something in his notebook.

“Cool,” I say as casually as I can, digging my book out of my bag. “I think I’m almost done with it, but I could use a proofread.”

“Let me,” Josh says quickly, reaching out. “I’m already done with mine.” I hand him my notebook and let him read it while I watch Simon, who refuses to look at me.

Whatever it is that I triggered in him, it must really run deep.

North’s phone vibrates, grabbing my attention away from Simon as she snatches it up and checks the screen. Scowling, she fires off a text and drops her phone between her legs, but she looks too distracted to go back to her paper.

“It’s pretty good,” Josh says softly, barely breaking the heavy tension as he leans over and points out something in my essay. “I’d rephrase this, and maybe move this whole bit up to here. And you forgot to include how Germany was affected by the treaty.”

“Yeah, I was gonna add that somewhere in here,” I explain, pointing. “I just don’t know how to do that without it sounding disjointed and weird.”

“Mm... Maybe mention it here,” he suggests, “and then go a little more in depth later, like down here, ‘cause this is good as is, so I get your concern about the whole flow of it and everything. So maybe just a line here about how German-Americans were ostracised in the States, and in Europe it was even worse, and then come back to that... oh, right here.”

North’s phone vibrates again and we both glance at her as she yanks it from between her legs, actually growling at it. She starts texting back, but then thinks better of it and slaps her book closed, shoving it into her backpack along with her notebook and pencil.

“Gotta go,” she mumbles irritably, swinging her pack over her shoulder and slipping between the chairs. I look at Josh, catching the tight press of his lips, and make an instant decision; pushing my books onto Josh’s lap, I jump up and hurry after her.

“North, hold up,” I say, catching up in the lobby.

“No,” she says shortly, still walking. I grab her arm and she twists out of my grasp, whirling on me. “The answer is no, Markus! I’m not telling you anything!”

“You don’t have to,” I say calmly, raising my hands. “Just listen for five seconds. Whoever it is that keeps texting you, it’s impossible not to see how much you hate them. If you’re in trouble-”

“I’m not,” she cuts in sharply, glaring. “I’m fine.”

“Everyone’s fine until they’re not,” I return firmly. “I’m just saying that I’m here if you need someone. You don’t have to tell me anything, ever; I’m happy just to keep you company. I’m also more than happy to kick someone’s ass if I have to, but I think you’ve got that covered.” I give her a small, hopeful smile, and she narrows her eyes at me, lip curling.

“...He’s gay,” she says suddenly, startling me. “Simon. Last year, this guy Damien found out and pretended to be interested. All he really wanted was Simon’s brain; jackass was failing every class and Simon hasn’t gotten lower than a B+ since elementary school. Simon actually fell for him, even though Josh and I kept warning him, and it just about shattered him when he finally heard it from Damien himself. He doesn’t trust anyone now. Just me and Josh.” Stepping closer, she sneers down her nose at me, even though we’re about the same height. “And if anyone ever hears a word of this, I’ll rip your dick out through your mouth.”

“Better keep my mouth closed then,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice level and maintain eye contact. She humphs and turns on her heel, striding away without another word.

It takes me about ten seconds to realise she sold Simon out to keep me from finding out what’s going on with her, and my gut sinks.

Absolutely no one is going to hear any of this from me, because if Simon ever learned that one of the only people he trusts betrayed him, he’ll never be whole again.

――

“Carl?”

“Hm?” He eyes the board thoughtfully, and then takes my rook with his knight, leaving my king exposed if I don’t protect it soon.

“If you knew something about someone that you weren’t supposed to...” I’m staring at the board, but for once, I can’t think far enough ahead to know whether I should scoot my queen over or sacrifice my bishop. “And it changed everything about how you viewed them... would you tell them you knew?” I slide my queen in front of my king.

“...Presumably this is something they’ve kept secret for a long time, no?” he hums, frowning at my move and promptly taking my other rook.

“Well, theoretically, maybe,” I mumble, taking his queen and immediately losing my own. “And maybe it was used to hurt them in the past?”

“Then, theoretically, it isn’t something they want anyone knowing, and it would be better to let them know that you are aware of it and don’t intend to hurt them with the knowledge.”

“Even if mentioning it would hurt them anyway?” I check his king and lose my bishop, so I take his rook.

“I would think that it would hurt more to find out later rather than sooner,” he notes sagely, nudging a pawn to the last row. “Queen, checkmate.” Sighing, I flick my king, knocking it over. “Markus... What’s going on? You never lose twice in a row. And it’s the fifth time this week. Don’t you have your first match this weekend?”

“Yes,” I mutter, slouching back in my chair and watching a curious bumblebee inspect our chess clock.

“Did something happen with your friends?” he presses gently. “I thought things were finally going well.”

“...I found out something that I shouldn’t know,” I whisper, still watching the bumblebee as it perches on Carl’s captured queen piece. “I can’t look at any of them now without thinking about how they’d all react if they found out I knew.”

“How would they react?”

“Poorly,” I scoff, waving the bumblebee away. “Josh would never speak to me again, Simon would absolutely despise me, and North would probably beat me to within an inch of my life.”

“Does the knowledge of this secret actually affect your relationships with them?” he asks, making me hesitate.

Does it? No; I don’t care that Simon’s gay, and knowing that some asshole used it against him just makes me want to protect him.

“...No.”

“Then does it matter that you know?” Carl points out. “If you’re afraid that saying anything will cost you their friendship, regardless of whether or not it will, then that’s all it is: fear. You can’t let fear get between you and your friends, or you’ll lose them anyway.”

And just like that, I can breathe again.

“Really?” Geez, I sound like an insecure kid...

“Really,” he smiles. “You know what to do, Markus, even if you don’t realise it yet.”

And if I wasn’t afraid of offending him, I’d hug him for being so fatherly when I need it most.

You know what? Screw it; can’t let fear get in the way, right? I stand and step around the table to wrap my arm around his shoulders, just for a moment. He shocks me by slipping his arm around my waist and hugging back.

“Thank you,” I breathe, struggling to contain the burst of absolute joy in my chest.

“You’re welcome, my boy.”


	8. We Cannot Change Our Past

Simon glances up when I slide into the seat next to him, just after first bell.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Now?” he frowns. “Class is about to start.”

“It’s important.”

“...About what?” Okay, this is good; he hasn’t been talking to me much, but if he’s willing to now, I’ll take it. Even if it means earning his wrath all over again.

I really hope this goes well...

“I heard a rumour,” I say softly, leaning a little closer so I don’t risk anyone overhearing. He’s tensing up already. “I wanted to make sure it was true before I start making any assumptions.”

“What did you hear?” he asks, barely above a whisper and staring at his clenched fists in his lap. He sounds oddly tired, like Carl sometimes does when he talks about the past.

“Are you...?” No, wait; don’t ask that way. He’s insecure about it, or else he’d be out of the closet entirely. “Do you not trust me because you’re afraid I’ll be like Damien?”

“ _Who told you about Damien??_ ” he demanded viciously, grabbing my collar and yanking my close.

Holy shit, I did _not_ expect him to get that pissed...

“I...”

“Was it Josh?” he hissed, fire flashing in his eyes.

“No, it wasn’t... I’m a bad kid, remember? I have connections.”

He stares hard at me for a long moment, and then shoves me away, half a second before the late bell rings and students start clamouring for their seats.

“Better get to your seat,” he says coolly, not looking at me anymore. Baffled and taken entirely aback, I move back to my usual spot at the front.

First of all, I may have bitten off a little bit more than I can chew on this, and second, why did no one tell me he’s got a crazy ass temper??

――

“Simon,” I call after him, following him as he strides purposefully to the Plaza. “Simon, come on. Talk to me, please. Simon. Simon, please.”

Nothing.

Josh is already enjoying his lunch, and North is just sitting down with hers when Simon plunks his tray down across from them, but doesn’t sit. I pause beside the table, uneasy.

“How the hell did he find out about Damien?” Simon demands, making both of them look up in shock.

“He knows ab- You know about Damien?” Josh asks around a mouthful of pizza.

“Yes, I- I told you, Simon; I have connections,” I say, pointedly avoiding looking at North. “I almost landed up in juvie; I _know_ people, and those people hear things, especially when it comes to morons that like to boast to their friends.”

“No one is supposed to know about what happened!” Simon snaps at me, and storms back toward the building, presumably to get the silverware he forgot the first time. I follow.

“Okay, but I know now, and I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t listening to some fake rumour because I didn’t want to believe anything about you that wasn-” He stops short and turns around, and I almost trip into him trying _not_ to run into him. “Wasn’t true...”

“Yes, it’s true,” he hisses. “Happy now?” Turning back around, he snatches a fork and a spoon and then shoulders past me back toward the others.

“Wh- No,” I say, still trailing after him. “No, I’m not happy, because you’re still pissed at me.”

“Deal with it.”

“Simon, come on,” I plead. “I’m just trying to understand you.” He whirls around again, right next to the table.

“Stop trying!” he cries, clearly fed up. “I don’t _want_ you to understand me! I don’t _want_ to be friends with you, because I don’t _want_ to end up used again! I _want_ you to stop being so s- so... Just... leave me the hell alone!” North and Josh exchange surprised looks, but I’m in too much pain to care whether they find this amusing or appalling.

I thought this was what Carl meant when he said I know what to do. I thought that letting Simon know that I’m aware of what happened and that I don’t care whether or not he’s gay... I thought things would change for the better.

“Simon...” I try, but no. I can’t. Shaking my head, I step back and try hard not to let them see how hurt I am. “I’m sorry.”

I have to go. Now. I don’t know or care where, just away.

“Wait, Markus!”

I ignore them. I don’t care who spoke, I don’t care if the whole school is watching, I just don’t care, because the only thing I _did_ care about, ended up biting me in the ass.

――

I skipped both my afternoon classes, and I’ve been walking around the city for several hours now, hood up and hands shoved into my pockets because of the drizzling rain.

How fitting.

I’ve been blasting Criminal by Disturbed on repeat as loud as my ears can handle for about... twenty minutes, I guess, when I see a very familiar figure on the street corner ahead, chatting up a tall blonde in heels and a skimpy dress. A figure I hoped I’d never see again. Yanking North’s earbuds from my ears and shoving them in my pocket, I head for the pair hanging out under the awning of whatever shop chose to set up on this corner.

“...a little young to be looking for a hookup, sweetheart?” the blonde is asking, though her eyes say she’s definitely interested. Women are always interested in him.

“Nah, I just got a little bit of a baby face,” he laughs, rubbing a hand over his chin in a move that’s specifically meant to draw attention to his chiseled jaw and sturdy neck. “I promise I’m 18.”

“Not what your driver’s license says, Alex,” I cut in, stepping under the awning and flipping back my hood as he whips around in shock. “In fact, if I remember right, you don’t even turn seventeen until the end of the school year.” The blonde cocks a brow at me, and then turns a bland look on Alex, who can’t recover from his shock quick enough.

“Try again in a couple years, kid,” she says coolly, clipping away. I make sure she’s out of hearing distance before I turn back to my nightmare in human form.

Alex Whitman, 16-year-old menace to society, in more ways than one. He’s good looking, from an objective standpoint; he’s got the well tanned and highly toned body of an older male, with dark hair that always seems to fall just perfectly into bright blue eyes hinting toward grey. They remind me uncomfortably of Simon’s, but colder, and I cling to that tiny fact, firmly separating the two in my head.

“Markus, what...?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Alex?” I hiss at him, pissed off and wishing I didn’t have to deal with this bullshit right now.

“What do you mean what am I- What are _you_ doing here?” he returns, looking me up and down and grinning. “Man, I thought you were in the tank for sure!”

“I came this close,” I say, holding up my hand in his face, thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart, “no thanks to _you_. How the hell did you get away? And what the hell are you doing _here_?”

“Got a buddy to bust me out before the trial and we hightailed it,” Alex smirks, looking as haughty as ever, like the world doesn’t deserve the prize that is Alexander Whitman. “Just happened to end up here. How did _you_ get here?”

“New lease on life,” I scowl at him. “And I don’t need _you_ coming around and ruining it for me.”

“Ruin- Dude, Markus; we’re friends, remember?” He reaches out and grips my shoulder, the same way he did that night, when he assured me nothing could possibly go wrong, that he’d already made sure the family was out of the house for the evening.

“We are _not_ friends,” I snap, slapping his hand away sharply. “You lost that privilege when you _lied_ to my face and then _abandoned_ me! You have no idea how happy it made me to see you get dragged in, just like me, _cuffed_ , JUST. LIKE. ME! _You_ fucked up, and you fucked us all over!” I step back, head tight and pounding with rage, and force myself to take several calming breaths while Alex just stares at me, speechless. “But I guess I owe you something, because if you hadn’t dicked everything up, I’d be on track to worse things than an assault charge. So here’s my gratitude: get your sorry ass out of this town, and don’t ever come back. The next time I see your face, I’ll slam it into a couple of walls and rearrange it for you.”

“...You...” Alex shakes his head, expression stiffening to something cruel and cold, nothing like the wild grin I’m used to seeing. “Okay. That’s how you wanna be? Alright. That’s fine. But you’re gonna regret this, Markus. I’ve got bigger friends now. You’d better watch your back, ‘cause one of these days you’re gonna turn around and I’m gonna be there, ready to put a knife in it.”

“You can try,” I growl, staring him down even though he’s several inches taller than me. He stares harshly back for a few short seconds, and then spits at my feet as he turns and walks away without another word.

I watch him go, shaking with rage and adrenaline, and then yank my phone from my pocket.

< _Text to: North_

_-i know youre pissed at me, but im pissed at smthng too. spar?_

I get a text back within moments, just an address, so I plug it into Maps and follow the route.


	9. All Men Make Mistakes

It’s a... dance studio? Or maybe it was, at some point in the past; there are windows to the street all along one side, most of them blocked by duct tape, and through the others, I can see mirrors along the inside walls. North is inside, dancing around an old but repaired and well-maintained punching bag, and every blow makes it shift and bounce on its chain.

When I slip in through the thick, heavy door, I’m immediately assaulted by _Keys to the Kingdom_ , by Linkin Park. For a moment, I just listen and watch.

North’s long reddish blonde hair isn’t covered by a beanie, like she normally wears, and she has it pulled up in a messy bun instead of her usual braid. Between that and the fitted sports gear she’s wearing, I can’t help but wonder at her fierce, steel-warrior-like beauty. It doesn’t erase my anger, but it does ease things down to more of a sharp irritation.

I shrug off my jacket as the track transitions into _All For Nothing_ , from the same album; she must have the whole thing. Understandable since most of Linkin Park’s songs are all tied together like a single song for the whole of the album. Going over to the small but powerful Bluetooth speaker, I turn it down a little, and North pauses, looking up.

“Took you long enough,” she huffs, brushing gloved hands over her mouth. “Where were you, opposite side of the city?”

“Walked from the darker end of town,” I shrugged, tugging my overshirt off so I'm just in jeans and a tank. “Who’s place is this?”

“Mine,” she says shortly, and immediately changes the subject before I can ask. “What are you pissed at?”

“...Met an old acquaintance,” I answer reluctantly, moving across to the punching bag and inspecting it quickly before taking a stance like North was in when I entered. “Thought I left him behind. Was glad, too. Then he showed up out of nowhere and reminded me of everything about myself that I hate.” I punch the bag once. Twice. Three times.... I pick up the pace the longer I talk, just trying to let everything out. “I came here to start over, to be better than what I was becoming, and in spite of everything with you and Simon and Josh, I thought I was finally doing that. I thought I was finally figuring out who I could be, who I _wanted_ to be. I’ve got a past, a bad past; I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I didn’t want that to be what defined me, and I was so happy to be making progress. And then he shows up, a fucking ghost straight out of every nightmare that’s haunted me for months, suddenly in the flesh. And he has the gall to fucking grin and call me ‘friend,’ after everything he put me through! I almost went to kiddie jail because of him, and he still thought we were friends! The fucking bastard!!”

The bag snaps away from me when I put all of my strength into another blow, and North quickly steps in to keep it from knocking me over on the backswing. I step back, panting, and resist the temptation to keep attacking it so I don’t accidentally hit her in the process.

“...I should thank you,” she says suddenly, after a lengthy pause with only _Guilty All The Same_ picking up in the background and my breathing for accompaniment.

“For what?” I ask, startled. She meets my gaze, deep brown eyes unusually vulnerable.

“For not telling Simon who told you about Damien. I... I don’t know what I was thinking, but I went behind his back, and I broke my promise to him, and you had every opportunity to tell him the truth, to shift his anger to me... But you didn’t. So... Thank you.”

I guarantee she hasn’t thanked anyone for anything in a long time. Except maybe Simon or Josh. That makes her gratitude all the more potent.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything,” I say, laying a hand on the bag and staring at the redness of my knuckles, which are starting to throb and protest the sudden abuse.

“But you didn’t have to protect me either,” she persists, shifting her hand higher to cover mine. “Whatever you did in the past, that’s not who you are now.”

“Sure it is,” I chuckle ruefully, sliding my hand out from under hers; I don’t deserve her assurances. “I almost beat his face in for showing up out of the blue, and the reason I came this close to juvie? Assault.”

“But you didn’t beat him up, did you?” she points out, not giving up but starting to grow impatient.

“The only reason I didn’t was because if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here,” I explain. “I’d be well on my way to bigger and worse crimes. I figured I owed him enough to let him walk away.”

“Goddamnit, Markus, would you stop it?” she explodes finally, shoving at my chest. “I’m trying to help you feel better! You can be better than what you were! You have to be! I need you to be because I need to know that I-!” She breaks off suddenly, horrified realisation dawning in her eyes. She quickly turns away, but I catch her arm and pull her back.

“You need to know what?” I demand, keeping my tone gentle but making sure she knows that I’m not letting her back out this time.

“Nothing,” she snaps, yanking. I tighten my grip, keeping a hold on her.

“North.”

She purses her lips tightly in anger and stubborn reluctance, but I can see her caving, so I wait while _Guilty All The Same_ ticks over into _The Summoning_ , a minute-long transition to _War_ , which starts before she finally answers.

“I need to know that I can be better too,” she admits tersely, clearly hating herself for giving in. “I need to know that I don’t have to stay like this, that I can actually _make_ something of my life.”

“Stay like what?” My turn to persist.

Shame trickles into her features and she looks away from me, shrugging uncomfortably out of my grasp. I let her, seeing the way she curls in on herself, like she can shut out the rest of the world.

“A whore.” I almost don’t hear it, she speaks so softly; her words are almost drowned out by the music. Immediately, I go over to the chair where the speaker is perched and scoop up the phone next to it, North’s phone. Fortunately, she doesn’t have it set so I need to unlock it to pause the music.

Silence descends on the studio, almost deafening in its own right, and the only sounds are my shoes on the hardwood and the brush of my jeans as I stride back across to where North is standing. Without a word, I pull her into my arms and rest my chin on her shoulder. For a moment, she tenses and tries to push away, but I don’t let go, so finally she stops fighting it and leans into me.

And I just hold her. That’s all I can do for her right now; I don’t even know what to say.

What would Carl say? Maybe something about how choices don’t make a person? But after what I just said about my own past, it’d be condescending and hypocritical, to say the least.

The fact that she only got up the nerve to tell me after almost giving it away on accident says just how close she keeps this to her chest; telling me is quite literally baring her soul to me, and I can’t cheapen that with cliche sentiments and words of wisdom that aren’t even my own.

“You know this doesn’t change my opinion of you,” I murmur. “You’re no less a badass just because you’ve slept with a couple of guys.” She laughs humourlessly, pushing away, and this time I let her go.

“A couple of guys,” she echoes sardonically, shaking her head. “I’m a _whore_ , Markus. I sleep with anyone who pays the right price.”

Okay, that... was unexpected.

“But...” I frown, confused. “You always look so pissed whenever you get a text...”

“Because I hate it!” she exclaims, throwing out her hands. “Okay? I fucking hate it! I hate being _used_ five nights a week and twice on Fridays. I hate every goddamn bastard who touches me and gets off on me and does whatever the hell they want just because they paid for it!”

“Then...” I pause, and try to choose my words carefully. “I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but I genuinely don’t understand... If you hate it so much, why do you do it? For the money?”

“No!” she cries. “Ye- That’s how it started. But I can’t just walk away whenever I want; I don’t even get a say in who buys me! I’m not like you, Markus; I’ve never had an option to get out. And I never will.”

“Why not?” I expect something about debt maybe, or a totally inaccurate claim that she isn’t strong enough to leave on her own, and I’m ready to argue. But she just shakes her head, resigned.

“Because,” she says quietly, on the verge of tears when she looks up at me with such _grief_ in her eyes that I feel it all the way to the very core of my being. “The man who sells me knows where I live. He knows who I care about, and if I try to leave... He’ll go after Josh and Simon.”


	10. Friendship Refreshes the Soul

There are twenty tables. That’s forty people competing, and only half of them move on to the regionals.

At least it’s not _like_ regionals; there, if you aren’t in the first ten to win, you might as well not have played.

Still, it’s pretty daunting to see so many tables all set up in the same room. For the preliminaries, the games were staggered throughout the day in different rooms, and qualifiers were decided not just by who won, but also by skill; it’s easy to win, but driving your opponent into a corner is the real challenge. Doing it then was like breathing for me, but now I’ll have more than just a couple pairs of eyes on me; this gym could easily seat a thousand or more people, and I have no idea how many of these seats will be filled by the time the tournament starts.

Already I see several dozen people trickling in, and I count five competitors amongst them, identifiable by the black shirts they wear with the tournament logo printed on the left breast and numbers printed on the backs, all in white.

I’m number 2. I don’t know how the numbering system works, at all, but I don’t particularly care either.

There are forty people competing today, and only seven of them are from my high school, including me. I know three of them by sight, but two of them I’ve never seen to date, and then there’s...

“Markus?” I blink and look up into the grey-blue gaze of the very person I was just thinking about: Simon. He looks away immediately, biting his lip and rubbing nervously at his wrist. “I... I wanted to... apologise... for yelling at you.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” I say, leaning back against the wall behind me and gesturing to the open space next to me. We still have a good twenty minutes before we need to report to the judges table to be assigned our tables, and from all the way up here, we have a great view of the entire gym and everyone coming and going.

“Yeah, I do,” he persists before I can excuse him. He doesn’t sit. “I just... What happened with Damien... It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Worse than when my mom almost died of an overdose and I was taken away from her.” I don’t say anything; I can’t sympathise if I never knew my parents. “I didn’t... I wanted it to be real. I still wish it had been. I don’t like being reminded of it because... because I’m still alone.”

“You’re not alone,” I argue. “You have North and Josh.” I don’t add my name to that because hell if I’m going to push a friendship on him after he was forced into something similar.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says pointedly, giving me a look. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess, but... I mean, sex aside, there’s really no difference between dating someone and being really close friends,” I point out. “Like, everything you’d do with your boyfriend, you can do with any friend.”

“You don’t think there’s anything special about having one person to share things with?” he asks, cocking a brow at me.

“If you’re asking do I believe in soulmates or whatever, no,” I answer. “You can talk to your best friends about whatever’s going on in your life because if they’re really your friends, they won’t judge you, and they’ll be just as supportive as a boyfriend.”

“...You’re really not bothered by it, are you?” he asks quietly after a long moment’s thought, eying me.

“By what?” I return, confused. “You being wary of me because of some bullshit ex that I’d love to punch in the face for treating you like that? I sure as hell am bothered by it.”

“Me being gay,” he corrects, the corner of his mouth tipping up in amusement.

“Oh. No; why would I be? I’m pan.”

“Really?” Both brows go up, and I can’t help but grin at how adorable he is.

“Sure,” I shrug. “Took me a while to figure it all out, but I’ve never really cared about gender or anything; if I like a person, I like them, end of subject.”

“So... Josh?” he offers, clearly intrigued.

“Hah! No,” I grin. “We were way too young when we knew each other before. And I didn’t even really realise it myself until I was... 11? 12? Something like that. Took me a couple years to put a name to it and feel comfortable with myself.” I offer him a warm smile. “I know a lot of people have a lot harder of a time accepting themselves than I did; I got lucky enough to learn early on that I’m the only one who can determine my self-worth, and most people can’t say the same.” He nods lightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes, and I watch him for a moment before cautiously asking, “So... Josh?”

“Wh- Oh!” He laughs lightly, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “No. I mean, I did kinda think about it once or twice, when we first met, but I was still sort of... questioning.”

“...Wishing you weren’t, you mean,” I offer tentatively. He stiffens slightly, smile turning brittle, but there’s a deep sadness in his eyes that tells me he’s not angry; I didn’t offend him with my comment.

“...Yeah,” he whispers, swallowing. “I... Sometimes... Sometimes I still wish...” He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. I reach out and grip his arm for just a moment, trying not to touch him too much; God knows what Damien coerced him to do back then, and God forbid I trigger anymore painful memories.

 _“Participants, report to the judges table,”_ a deep voice announces over the loudspeaker. _“Participants, please report to the judges table for your assigned opponents. Thank you.”_

“Time to go destroy some opponents,” I say, standing and grinning at Simon, who smiles softly back.

“Good luck,” he says, touching my hand before slipping away.

His number is 1.

With that conversation bolstering my morale, I bounce down the bleachers and hurry to the judges table. I get table 12, and my opponent will be number 23.

Number 23 turns out to be a tall, stick-thin, nerd-stereotype guy, but without the glasses. His hair is combed over and looks gelled, his face is dotted with more acne than I’ve ever suffered since puberty began, and his braces are so big they force his lips to be constantly open.

I almost feel bad for the poor guy. Except that if he’s as good as a stereotypical nerd should be, I’m going to have a real challenge on my hands.

“Hi,” I greet, trying to at least be civil. “I’m Markus.”

“Theo,” he grunts in a nasally voice, tone clipped. “No formalities, alright? I’m going to win and I don’t care much about getting to know losing opponents.”

Did I say I felt bad for this guy? Screw that.

I glance around as I take my seat, and find Simon shaking hands with a pleasantly plump girl with pretty brown curls. He catches my gaze and smiles, giving me a small thumbs up. I grin and return the gesture as the lead judge calls for everyone’s attention to start things off.

When we finally begin, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly while Theo makes his first move with white. He opens with the Queen’s Gambit, and immediately I know he’s not nearly as good as he thinks he is. In fact, he won’t even be a challenge.

I beat him in record time, already missing my matches with Carl. Even my preliminary match against one of the kids at my own school was more challenging than this.

“Checkmate,” I say, and don’t even bother to wait for Theo to make sure before raising my hand and standing. A judge glides over and checks the board to make sure it really is checkmate, and then nods, scribbling on her clipboard.

“Congratulations, Mr. Avery,” she says softly. “You’re the first winner of the Southeast Michigan Regional Chess Tournament.” Pride blooms in my chest, and I can’t help a grin, even while Theo makes sputtering noises of protest. The feeling grows when I glance past the judge’s shoulder and see Simon raise his hand and stand.

He says something quietly to his opponent, holding out his other hand to her, and she takes it, ceding with grace. I move off to the side while a judge checks Simon’s board, and then smirk broadly at him as he joins me.

“I think your good luck helped,” I whisper, leaning toward him. “My opponent was an absolute disaster. I dunno how he got past preliminaries, but he was _way_ to cocky.”

“You’re one to talk,” he murmurs, casting a quick glance up at me. “I think finishing first has already gone to your head; don’t forget we still have the State Tournament in two months, and, if we somehow manage to win that, the National Tournament at the end of the summer.”

“Babe, I _welcome_ the challenge,” I snicker. “My preliminary was harder than this.”

Only then do I realise what I said, and my breath catches in my throat. I look quickly at Simon, but his gaze is fixed on the nearest table, which is playing a slower game since time isn’t a factor here. The only sign that he noticed is the hint of pink across his cheekbones and ears. And the fact that he refuses to look at me. Clearing my throat, I try to move on before it gets any more awkward.

“So I, um... I visit this old guy every Sunday,” I say, hoping a semi-change of topic will help. “He’s the one who taught me how to play chess, and he’s a fantastic opponent. If, uh... If you want, I could introduce you tomorrow and you can test your skills against him.” He glances at me now, but hesitates to answer.

“I... was going to hang out with North tomorrow,” he says slowly. “Josh has a book club thing in the morning and work in the afternoon, so North and I were going to walk around town, but...” I wait, holding my breath, partly because I’m hoping he’ll accept the invitation, and partly because I’m still afraid he’s going to bring up my slip. “I guess I could ask her if we can change things around a bit so we actually have a destination.”

“Yeah,” I sigh in relief. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, still blushing faintly and not looking at me. “Yeah, it would.”


	11. What Goes Up...

"Hey, Orchid," I smile, reaching for the sign-in sheet. "You're working the desk today?"

"Just covering for Sal," she smiles back, leaning forward on the counter. "Brought some friends today?"

"Yeah, is that alright?" I ask, already adding Simon and North's names to the sheet.

"Sure! Carl's been all abuzz looking forward to your arrival today; couldn't stop talking about you all morning and how your first tournament was yesterday. How'd you do, by the way?"

"Won, of course," I laugh, pushing the sheet back toward her. "When you learn from someone like Carl, you don't lose to anyone but the best."

"Fair enough," she giggles. "He's in the garden."

Nodding my thanks, I lead North and Simon through the building and out the back into the large, winding garden, going straight to the corner under the biggest tree, where Carl likes to sit because of the shade.

"Hi, Carl!" I greet, getting his attention, which was focused on a pair of butterflies before I spoke up. He glances over, and a wide grin crosses his lips as he unlocks his wheels and turns.

"Markus!" His gaze skips past me and his brows lift. "And friends? Wait, let me guess; this one is... Simon? And you must be North." Both of them look surprised, but Simon more so; almost shocked, in fact.

"Yep. North, Simon, this is-"

"Carl Manfred??" Simon squeaks, cutting me off. "Sorry; why didn't you say you knew _the_ Carl Manfred?"

"Um... Because I didn't think it was important?" I offer, amused and mildly perplexed. "Why, are you a fan of his paintings or something?"

"A fa- Only an uncultured swine could possibly _not_ be a fan!" A meme reference? From Simon? He _must_ be excited.

North clears her throat, but Simon just waves her off.

"Not you, North; you're different." She just rolls her eyes while Carl chuckles. Simon reaches out, awed but nervous. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir; I really, really love your work! It's so... evocative."

"The pleasure's all mine," Carl assures, taking his hand and giving him a firm handshake. "I've heard a lot about you. All of you. I must say, with all the tension I gathered between the lot of you, I didn't expect to meet you so soon."

"Tension?" North echoes, glancing at me with a raised brow.

"Quite. I was under the impression that the three of you were rather upset with Markus."

"We are," she answers bluntly, still giving me that cocked look.

"Were," Simon hastily corrects, a hint of colour creeping into his cheeks. "We were. It's better now."

"Good," Carl smiles warmly. "Markus needs some friends."

"Carl," I protest softly, my own cheeks heating. North smirks at me and I give her a bland look.

"Pull up a chair," Carl offers, gesturing to the table we often sit at, where a chess board is already set up and waiting. "Do either of you play?"

"Simon was at the tournament with me," I explain, making sure they both have seats before taking mine across from Carl. "We both won, and I offered to introduce you two so he can see a real challenge."

"I don't know about a real challenge," Carl laughs, making his first move.

God I love this so much.

"Are you kidding?" I scoff, grinning at him. "My first real opponent was a mess, and not even a hot one; he tried to corral me into a Queen's Gambit right from the start." We take our moves with an quick, easy familiarity, hardly taking more than a few moments each turn to decide where we're going next until we get to the mid-game.

"There was a time the Queen's Gambit baffled you," Carl reminds fondly. I laugh.

"Those days are long gone, Carl."

"I know how Markus learned to play," he says, snatching my queen with a mischievous glance and a teasing waggle before looking at Simon, "but what got you interested in chess?"

Simon hesitates to answer, glancing first at me then at North, who's too busy doing something on her phone to notice. Then he shifts uneasily and clears his throat before answering.

"I, um... I mostly taught myself as a distraction," he says hesitantly. "From Mom's drug habit. And then because I was alone in the foster home."

"Mm. Is she alright?" Carl asks gently, letting me get my queen back with a pawn. "Your mother?"

"I... Maybe?" Simon shrugs, not liking this topic but not daring to try and change it. "She's in rehab, but she's been in and out for the past two years, so..."

"Hey, Simon," I say into the awkward silence that follows, trying to ease things up a bit. "I just realised I've never asked; how did you meet Josh?" Cutting a grateful peek at me, he takes the out immediately.

"It was because of chess, actually," he smiles, warming up. "I was playing a game against myself at the home, and Josh saw me and told me he'd seen me around school and asked if I knew the school had a chess club."

"Did you meet North through chess too?" I ask, grinning at her when she looks up at the sound of her name. She makes a face and sticks her tongue at me, which only encourages me to grin wider.

"No," Simon laughs softly at us. "She rescued me from Allen and his buddies and I started following her around until I wore her down enough to call me a friend."

"Brat," North huffs unconvincingly. Carl smiles and turns my check into a checkmate.

"And you say you won yesterday?" he teases.

"I'm more than a little distracted," I laugh, gesturing at North and Simon. "Haven't exactly had practice multitasking with chess and company at the same time."

"Well, then I suppose you'll have to bring your friends around again," Carl says easily. "It was nice to win again for a change."

"You say that like you don't beat me at least once a week," I chide, resetting the board. "Simon, you wanna try?"

"Me?" he asks, incredulous.

"No, that bush is named Simon," I say sarcastically, shaking my head. "Yes, you. Come on, at least try; I know you want to."

"Yes, Simon, please do," Carl agrees. "I've grown far too used to Markus' habits; I could use a refreshing new opponent."

"I, uh... er, I guess..." Simon blushes eagerly as he switches chairs with me, and I lean back beside North, who tucks her phone away casually and crosses her arms.

"Texting Josh?" I ask, just as casual.

"...yes," she answers, but the hesitation is enough.

"Do you need to go?" I ask cautiously.

"...not yet."

"Okay." Watching Simon and Carl take slower moves, not talking as much because both are concentrated on figuring out their opponent's style, I pat her knee lightly, just to show support. To my surprise, when I start to pull my hand back, she uncurls a little and grabs my fingers, then slowly slides her hand properly into mine.

She's trembling minutely, and all I can do is squeeze her hand comfortingly.

We all chat idly while Carl secures another win; when Simon sits back, he looks quite pleased with himself for someone who just lost.

"That... was fun," he grins. "I see what you mean now, Markus; how do you _ever_ beat him?"

"With surprising ease, actually," Carl humphs, giving me a side-eye that seems rather pleased as well. "He learned a little _too_ well, if you ask me. And you, my young friend, have an untapped reservoir of potential; keep practicing, and come back for another challenge now and again. Before you know it, you'll be a master yourself."

Simon flushes with bashful pride, fairly squirming with glee, and nods agreement, no doubt because his tongue has failed him. Beside me, North lets out a happy little sigh, and when I glance at her, she's looking at Simon with a soft, proud expression like I've never seen on her before. I stare in awe for a second, until she notices and cocks a brow at me, her expression closing off. I just smile back and give her hand a little squeeze.

When I show them to the lobby ― North has to leave and Simon apparently promised to walk home with her if it happened ― she sneaks a light kiss on my cheek when Simon isn't looking, and promptly turns around to take Simon's hand as they walk away. I watch them go for a moment before heading back toward the garden, reaching up to touch my cheek, where I still feel the gentle brush of soft lips.

I guess things are finally looking up for me.


	12. ...Must Come Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to stop making these early morning late updates....

“Have you seen Alex today?” I choke on my drink and drop the cup, splashing it all over my shirt.

“Wh-” I ignore North’s curses at me for getting droplets on her arm and stare at Josh across the table.

“Dude, you okay?” he asks, partly amused and mostly concerned as he offers me a napkin.

“What did you...?” I can’t even finish the question; I numbly take the napkin and wrack my brain to figure out where the hell Josh could have met Alex.

“Alex,” he repeats. “Alex Karev? He’s in your section, sophomore B. Someone said he was sick and I was just wondering if you’d seen him today.”

Not the same Alex.

Thank fucking God...

“I- No, I don’t-” I stammer, trying to clean up the orange juice on my face and shirt.

“He wasn’t in classes this morning,” Simon answers, picking up another napkin and taking the one I just used out of my hand to replace it. “Maya said something about...”

“Drugs?” Josh grimaces. “Yeah, that’s what I heard too.”

“Drugs?” I echo, a chill seeping through my veins.

“Yeah,” Josh sighs, shaking his head. “The school’s really good about keeping the campus clean, but when we’re not at school... Last year, five kids were kicked out for getting positive on a random drug test. In one semester.”

“Two of them were dealers,” North adds grimly, stabbing at her salad. “One of them tried to get me to sell some stuff.”

“Did you report it?” I ask, morbidly curious. She gives me a bland look.

“No, I kept my mouth shut because student solidarity. Of course I reported it, moron.”

“I tried MJ once,” Simon said quietly, poking at his food and not looking at anyone. “Didn’t mean to; brownie. I _tasted_ it in the brownie, and immediately left. Got the munchies later.”

“I remember that,” Josh grins. “I was wondering what happened... Didn’t know you used, Si.” He winks teasingly, and Simon elbows him hard, but there’s a small smile on his face.

“Like you haven’t tried some weird shit,” he huffs.

“Yeah, before I knew what it was,” Josh scoffs, rolling his eyes. He glances across at me and North. “It was a party, this last New Year’s. They were handing out little pills and I was half drunk already, so I took one. Just one, though. It was a trippy experience; don’t think I wanna do that again.”

I glance at North, stifling my horror and wondering if she’s tried anything. She notices and stares back at me, blinking slowly.

“No,” she says shortly. “Even if I wanted to, and I definitely don’t want to... I can’t; it interferes with my... job.” Under the table, she puts her hand on the seat between us, and I drop my hand to cover it, squeezing gently.

Over the last week or so since our _moment_ in her studio ― which she still hasn’t explained but I assume she bought with money from her ‘clients’ ― she’s started taking my hand whenever she feels upset, usually because of her work. I’m glad that it’s a comfort for her, but I wish I could do more.

“What about you, Markus?” Josh asks, leaning forward on the table with interest. “Ever try anything?”

“...Yeah,” I answer vaguely, and leave it at that. I can feel them all waiting expectantly for explanation, but I don’t give it.

That’s a part of my past I don’t ever want to revisit.

Ever.

“So, anyone know if Alex is coming back?” Josh asks into the terse silence, trying to turn the conversation back in the original direction.

“Probably not,” North scoffs, shifting a finger to hook it around one of mine. “If he’s using, he’ll get caught sooner than later.”

Josh’s phone pings, and he snatches it like he was expecting the message. By the expression that crosses his face, however, it isn’t the message he was expecting.

“Oh hell...” Shaking his head, he turns the phone toward Simon. “This ought to make you happy.” Simon cocks his head and leans over to look. Then he pales.

“Is that really...?” He turns a wide-eyed look on Josh, who shrugs.

“Far as I know; you know as much as I do.”

“What is it?” North asks before I can. She pulls her hand out from under mine and stands to lean over the table. Josh turns the phone so she can see, and her brows raise. “Seriously?”

“What?” I prompt, disliking being out of the loop but trying not to show it.

"Damien got himself arrested," Josh explains, showing me the blurred picture someone texted to him. It's pretty clear there's a cop in the image, guiding a young man who looks a bit older than us ― hard to tell, given the quality ― toward a squad car. I can't make out details, but he's got dark hair and darker skin, and he looks fit; maybe a jock of some kind.

"Anyone know for what?" I ask, finding myself subtly smug about the idea, even though I shouldn't be, since I only know a little bit about him.

"Not a clue yet." The phone pings again and Josh's brows go up. "Holy... No fucking way..."

"What?" All three of us ask at once.

"Celine's saying she heard someone mention sex trafficking!" Josh exclaims as his phone pings again, and then again. "Ryan's with her; says he thinks Damien isn't actually involved, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, Angie's there too; must be the whole gang..." He starts reading parts of the texts aloud as they come in fast and hot. "...at the Denny's down the street... saw Damien come in with an older guy... sat in the corner... Matt says he's seen the guy before but doesn't remember where... a group of scuzzy looking guys came in and sat at the table next to theirs... guy passed something to Damien under the table..." he glances up and adds, "Bet it was drugs. Uh... Damien got loud... upset about something... Oh shit; there was an off-duty cop on the other side of the restaurant and he heard the noise and called his buddies. Ty said at least half a dozen cops stormed the place just now and arrested everyone at the two tables, including Damien."

"Hell..." North breathes, leaning back. She looks at Simon, and suddenly everyone's attention is on him. "Si...?"

"Mm?" Simon is pretty intent on his own salad, picking apart a sprig of half-wilted lettuce with his fingers.

"Are you okay?" I press. He presses his lips together, flicking the piece of lettuce back into his tray.

"I'm fine," he says quietly. I glance at North, but she's not going to keep pushing; she feels too guilty about telling me. I glance at Josh, but no help there either; he never was the type to push anyone.

Standing, I round the table and swing a leg over the seat, settling next to Simon, facing him. Taking his wrist, I tug him a little closer, away from Josh, and lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I held a little girl in my arms while she bled all over me, and my hand on her head was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out. Her big brother, who was maybe a year older than me, was unconscious on the other side of the room, and neither of us even knew if he was alive. My so called friends had bolted, and I was stuck there, unable to move even to call for help because if I took my hand off her head, she'd bleed out and die, and I'd be charged with murder. She was terrified, and all she could say was 'Don't leave me, please don't leave me.' I only know she's alive because I overheard the paramedics while I was being escorted to the squad car tell her brother that they were just in time. I have nightmares every single night about it, and I can't talk with anyone about it because no one understands. Trauma isn't easy for _anyone_ , and we all cope differently. But you can't keep it locked up, or it'll just fester and destroy your ability to feel; you'll grow up twisted and scarred, broken. You don't have to talk about everything that happened, but you can't pretend like everything's okay... okay?"

He nods slightly, scrubbing a hand over his cheek and swallowing back tears as he leans against me. I rub his back with my fingertips, scratching soothing designs over his shoulder blades and leaning my forehead against his temple.

"It's okay to not be okay," I promise quietly.

"I'm sorry..." he murmurs. "I'm sorry you had to go through that..."

"Could've been worse," I remind softly. "Could've been much, much worse."

Unfortunately, if my past experiences are worth anything, I know that we're not done with trauma; Damien is just the beginning.


	13. For Every Action...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, guys; no suggestions yet?

“I thought I left that all behind,” I say irritably, pacing Carl’s room and tapping a paintbrush in a quick beat against my palm. He tried to convince me to paint something earlier, but I was too anxious and unsettled, so he’s painting instead, quietly coaxing me into revealing my problems like a really freaking good therapist. He said painting helps him think, so maybe that’s why he always seems to have an answer for everything.

“We never truly leave our pasts behind, Markus,” he says gently, sitting back to eye his work for a moment. “Everything we’ve done shapes who we become.”

“I know that,” I snap, too annoyed and uneasy to keep my voice level. “I get it, but I’m starting over; this is my chance to be someone better, but how can I do that if my ex best friend is back to haunt me, drugs are popping up everywhere, and on top of that, apparently there’s a sex trafficking ring in the area?? My friends are in danger, and the only way to keep them safe is to go back to everything I’m trying to get away from!” I fling the brush across the room with a clatter that makes Carl jump.

“Markus, please,” he chides, setting his brush down and picking up a rag to clean his hands. I drop onto the end of his bed with a heavy sigh, rubbing my hands over my face.

“Sorry,” I mutter into my palms. “I’m just... frustrated.”

“An understandable sentiment, but really,” he clucks. “You can’t let yourself be overwhelmed by negative emotions.”

“Yeah, I know...” My hands slip to my lap, but before I can ask his advice, the door opens. I glance up, expecting Orchid, and jump to my feet at the sight of Leo standing there in blank shock. The agitation from earlier flares up again, tipping over into actual anger. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come back until you're sober!”

His expression stiffens to a tight wariness and he steps into the room, looking a hell of a lot more cognizant than the last time we met. I'm not sure whether he's actually sober or if he just had another hit before coming here, but either way I don't want him here. Not now, not while I'm at a low, weak and exposed.

"We weren't introduced last time," he says shortly. "I'm Leo Manfred, and that's my _father_ , dumbass."

"Leo..." Carl's voice is strained and I hate it; I hate that this bastard makes him so torn.

"I know exactly who you are," I growl, sneering at him.

"Then you know I have more right to be here than you do," he cuts in before I can say anything else, striding up until he's right in my face. He's about my height, but thinner; I have weeks of baseball training and games, and months more of basketball practice to give me an edge, not to mention my history of getting into trouble.

I could lay him out. Right here, no problem.

"Look at you," he hisses, taking advantage of my cold silence. "Don't you have better things to do than bugging old men?"

"Leo," Carl says again, this time in pleading.

"Don't you have your own family to hang around?" Leo goes on, ignoring him. I flinch reactively, in spite of myself, and he smirks. "Aw, you don't, do you? Just a sad little orphan boy looking for daddy's love. Well you can forget it; you're just a charity case, nothing more. My dad's only got one son, and I'm standing right here."

I can't help it. It's like he can read my mind; like he knows my deepest longing and takes pleasure from tearing it to shreds... I snap.

Grabbing the front of his shirt roughly, I haul him up on tiptoes, snarling.

"Shut the fuck up, junkie!"

"Markus, no!"

"Listen to Daddy, Markus!" Leo cackles madly, digging his fingers into my shoulders.

"Both of you, st- stop...!" The strained stammer of Carl's voice breaks me out of my lapse and I look over, already dropping Leo and shifting back.

I can _feel_ the blood draining from my face when I see Carl slumping out of his chair, clutching at his chest.

"Carl!!" I'm beside him instantly, terror sweeping a chilling flood through my veins as his palette clatters to the floor, splattering oil paints of all colours across the hardwood. I grab his wrist, feeling for a pulse and only finding a weak, irregular tapping against my fingers. "No... No, Carl! ORCHID!! SOMEONE, HELP!!" Wrapping my arms around his frail shoulders, I try to support him, fearing the worst when he doesn't respond, eyes closed and breathing too quick and shallow to be anything but dangerous.

"Look what you did," Leo whispers hatefully. I glance up, trembling with rage and pure, unbridled fear, and find him watching me with a manic, perversely prideful gleam in his eyes.

He planned this. This motherfucker planned this!

And I played right into his hands.

――

_-Text from: Josh  
-where ru?   
-already starting  
-better hurry_

_-not coming_

_-Text from: Simon  
-what's wrong?  
-are you okay?_

_-Text from: North  
-get your ass over here b4 I kick it_

_-Carl is in the hospital  
-im waiting for news_

_-Text from: Simon  
-WHAT  
-WHAT HAPPENED??_

When I don't reply, North sends a text saying they're on the way, and I'm not sure whether to be terrified or grateful. I sit in the waiting room with my phone on the coffee table in front of me, elbows on my knees and hands folded over my mouth, staring at the phone helplessly.

Leo is across from me, pacing idly back and forth with a patience he shouldn't have.

I can't look at him.

I hate him so much... but he's right. He has more right to be here than I do, and this is my fault.

My fault.

All of it, my fault.

If I hadn't let myself get involved with Alex... If I hadn't agreed to go steal things with him... If I hadn't been in that house... If I hadn't chosen to start over... If I hadn't met Carl... If I hadn't let myself believe he might grow to care for me...

If I hadn't been stupid enough to want that!

I should know better than this! I don't deserve good things! I don't deserve a family!

North, Simon and Josh burst into the lobby and glance around, making their way over the moment Josh points me out.

I don't deserve friends either, but that doesn't stop me from standing and letting North grab me in a tight hug. I return it, burying my face in her braid and trying desperately not to let myself cry; I've held on this long, I can make it a little longer.

"Markus..." Simon steps in when North moves back, giving me a gentler hug while Josh grips my shoulder. "I'm sorry..."

"What happened?" Josh asks. For once, it's not his hunger to be at the centre of the gossip hub that drives his question; he looks genuinely concerned, dark gaze searching my face.

"More orphans?" Leo sneers before I can answer. I stiffen, hating that I actually cringe away from his voice. "Man, you little maggots really come crawling out of the woodwork when one of you feels threatened, don't you?"

"Back off, sludgefest!" North snarls, shifting between us. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"North," I whisper, grabbing her elbow. She looks back at me, just waiting for the word to go lay him out. "That's Leo... Carl's son." Her face blanks in shock, and Simon flinches. Josh's jaw clenches, but to his credit, he doesn't say what I know he's thinking; the look he's giving Leo says he can't believe they're related.

"That's right," Leo smirks, flicking his fingers dismissively. "So go on, take your sad little orphan friend and go scurry back to your little holes before you do any more damage."

"Don't listen to him, Markus!" North hisses, glaring at him and gripping my arm tightly.

"He's right," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the floor so I won't have to see them lose faith in me. "It was my fault. I lost my temper, and Carl... I guess his heart couldn't handle it."

"It's not your fault, Markus," Simon says softly, taking my hands. "Everyone gets upset sometimes."

I shake my head, refusing to let myself be consoled by his words.

"Yeah, man," Josh adds, a bit more awkwardly, "Really, old as he is, it was just a matter of when something happened. He'll be okay; you'll see. Just watch; I'll bet they find something that would have killed him, but because he came in, they found it just in time."

"This isn't one of your medical dramas, Josh," North snaps. "Be sensitive, would you?"

Simon shuffles a little closer while North starts berating Josh, and lays his head on my shoulder, rubbing his thumb comfortingly across the back of my hand.

"It's okay to not be okay," he reminds.

I cling to what little hope that statement offers when I see an older woman in a white coat coming toward us, expression grim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honhonhon. ewe  
> Is Carl dead? Is he alive? Is Leo hoping to cash in on his inheritance early? Is Markus ever going to see Carl again? _So many questions!_


	14. ...There is Equal and Opposite Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest appearance!!  
> Agent Anne Shapiro belongs to [Estora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estora/pseuds/estora), and yes, she will be returning in the future.
> 
> Also, this chapter and the last are dedicated to Kal from the [New Era Discord server](https://discord.gg/dJBAMmt) I stalk. _I'll add their AO3 user when I learn it!_

I take a deep breath before pushing through the revolving door into the police station. I hold that breath while I pass the security checkpoint, almost forgetting to put my belt in the bucket. I let it out again when nerves get the best of me outside the familiar half glass door marked ‘Police Chief Hank Anderson.’

Someone’s in the office with him, so the door isn’t open the way it usually is, but it is cracked, so I can still hear them talking. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but whoever the other person is, she’s definitely female.

“Jackson, I swear to God,” Hank calls out suddenly, startling me, “if you interrupt us one more time...”

He must think I’m this Jackson guy.

Hesitantly, heart thudding so loudly in my ears that I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what gave me away, I nudge open the door and poke my head in cautiously. Hank is sitting on the corner of his desk, looking the same as always, if a bit scruffier than usual; his shoulder-length blond hair is falling out of the ponytail he usually keeps it in, and the dark bags under his eyes plus the light brown stubble across his jaw says he’s been too busy to sleep or anything lately. With him is a very tall, very sturdily built woman with cropped dark curls and sharp dark eyes that focus entirely on me the moment I step into view.

“Markus,” Hank greets, voice softening to something more resigned and a little weary. “Didn’t expect to see you again after our last visit at the end of your probation.” The woman’s brow cocks up at that, and I resolutely avoid looking at her.

“I... I was hoping I could talk to you about something,” I say slowly. My gaze flicks unbidden toward the woman even as I add, “About sex trafficking.”

“Hm. What a coincidence,” Hank humphs, giving the woman a look. “Agent Shapiro and I were just talking about that.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” the woman says simply, her voice a low, husky drawl. “Who is this?”

I shouldn’t feel nervous. There’s no good reason. But my brain isn’t listening to logic, and inside my head I’m on the verge of panic, so outwardly I’m stiffer than a board, swallowing hard and trying like hell not to look at her again.

“Markus Avery,” Hank explains with a sigh, standing and rounding his desk to pull a file from the cabinet in the corner. “Sixteen years old, seventeen in a couple weeks; orphan from birth, left on the steps of St. Peter’s in Chicago. Almost landed himself in juvie last year for a B&E gone wrong; family was supposed to go out for dinner, but the youngest got sick and the oldest convinced their parents to go on a date night instead. Markus and two others broke in, got startled by the little girl when she got up for a drink of water, one of them hit her over the head while another tackled the older brother and knocked him out. Those two bailed while Markus stayed behind and put pressure on the girl’s head wound until EMTs arrived.”

It’s almost... surreal, hearing it laid out like that. Everything I did... Like it didn’t really happen; like it’s a scene from some weird cop show.

“Hm.” Agent Shapiro skims the papers in my file and glances at me with a harder look than before when she hands it back to Hank.

“My buddy Jeffery Fowler, he’s a judge handling a lot of underage crime cases; he ended up with Markus’ case and gave him a choice: juvie, or relocation and rehabilitation. Guess which one he chose.”

“And you know something about the sex traffickers in the area?” Her question is directed at me, voice cool and hinting toward suspicion.

“I’m no crook,” I say shortly, nerves raw and leaving me more volatile than usual. “I’m trying to change.”

“Trying?” she presses, gaze narrowing.

“...Alex is here,” I admit quietly, clenching and unclenching my fists at my side. “Alexander Whitman. He convinced me to do that job in the first place. A lot of other stuff too... He tried to talk me into joining back up with him.”

“And you’re considering it?”

“Hell no!” I snap, sneering before I can stop myself. “I’m trying to put that crap behind me, damnit! I just want to help my friends, but I don’t know how to without getting involved in everything I’m trying to avoid! And now Carl is in the hospital, so I don’t even have anyone I can ask for advice!” By the last words, I’m choking on a lump of tears and struggling not to burst into tears, even though I’ve been holding back since I left the hospital.

“Whoa, hold on a second,” Hank interjects before I can go any further. “Carl Manfred? Your rehab partner?” I nod, unable to speak for a moment.

“Rehab partner?” Shapiro questions.

“The program Fowler uses pairs troubled kids up with older folks who don’t have a lot of family visits or who have their own problems,” Hanks replies dismissively. “Gives the kid a role model and gives the senior a reason to be better.” He turns his attention back on me. “What happened?”

“I... Leo came around a couple of weeks ago, withdrawing from some shit, and I told him not to come back until he sobered up, because he was obviously distressing Carl...”

“And by Leo, you mean Leo Manfred? His son?” he clarifies. I nod again.

“But he came back this morning, and I-I-I don’t... I don’t know if he was or not, but I...”

“Was sober?”

“Yeah, I was j- I was angry and frustrated, and seeing him made me snap, and I almost laid him out, right there in front of Carl, and it- The doctor said so much stress was put on his heart that it f- it failed and h- he...”

I can’t hold back the tears, goddamnit...

“...But he’s still alive?” Hank presses. A third nod, because saying anything else will break the crumbling dam entirely and I’ll dissolve in a puddle of tears.

Well, more tears; I’m already leaking because I can’t hold back the burn of frustration and humiliation and shame.

Shapiro suddenly stands, and I jolt back reactively as she steps toward me, only to realise she’s just holding out a tissue. I look up at her, but I can’t read her stony expression, so I timidly take the tissue and try to reel myself back in.

“This Leo kid,” she says after a long pause. “You said you wanted to talk about the sex trafficking. Is he involved?”

I hesitate for a split second, considering the lie just for a tiny moment. But I can’t. As much as I hate him, I can’t. It wouldn’t take much to figure out I lied anyway. So I shake my head.

“No,” I say, however reluctant. “No, he’s... He’s a junkie, but I don’t think he’s involved.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?” she asks, leaning against the edge of Hank’s desk.

I hesitate for real now. I was balking even at mentioning it to Hank, because North didn’t even want _me_ to know, really... To tell a complete stranger? Not only would I be breaking North’s confidence, but I’d be disrespecting her in the process.

“Markus, Agent Shapiro is with the FBI,” Hank says when the silence stretches uncomfortably. “Her main task is to bring down sex traffickers. Anything you can give her could be helpful.”

Well, that alleviates some of my concern.

Some.

“...One of my friends is...” I falter, still uneasy about sharing her secret. Neither of the adults speaks, waiting for me to go on. Taking a breath, I silently plead with North not to be angry at me. “One of my friends is being pimped out to anyone who’ll pay the price, and the guy who’s selling her knows about our other friends; he’s threatening them to keep her in line.”

Once the words are off my tongue, I immediately feel two contradicting sentiments; relief that someone with authority knows, and guilt that I betrayed North. The latter hangs heavy on my shoulders, and I twist the tissue between my hands.

“Don’t- If you talk to her, don’t tell her I told you, please?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I... I’ve been trying so hard to gain their trust in the first place; if she finds out I told anyone something she didn’t even want me knowing, she’ll never speak to me again.” Shapiro cocks a brow at me again, and I drop my gaze, shamed by my own cowardice. “I just want to help her...”

“What’s her name?”

“Um... She goes by North. None of us know her real name. Er, I don’t think... I don’t, at least.” I’m rambling; I shut my mouth.

“Do you know a last name?” I open my mouth again, and promptly realise that no, I don’t. I know Simon’s ― Smith ― because of chess, and Josh’s ― Thompson ― because of our time together in our childhood.

But I don’t know North’s last name.

“...no.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Shapiro doesn’t sound sceptical or judgmental or anything, but I still feel small and useless; I shake my head. “Where she goes to school?”

“Ah, yes! She goes to my school.”

“Central,” Hank offers. “A lot of the kids in the system go there.”

“North is a foster kid,” I add. “She, Josh and Simon live together or near each other; they’re rarely apart except during classes and when they work.”

“Hm,” Shapiro nods thoughtfully. “And... Josh and Simon... Do you know their last names, or where they live?”

“Not where they live... But Simon’s last name is Smith and Josh’s is Thompson. And Josh and I know each other from Chicago; we spent a couple of years together in first, second and third grade before he moved.”

“Good.” Shapiro steps closer to me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “This is good, Markus; I can use this to figure out who’s selling North and how to stop him. You did a _good_ thing; do you understand me? Secrets aren’t meant to stay in the dark; eventually it’ll come to light anyway, so better to tell the right people before the whole world finds out than have to endure the fallout when someone leaks it to the wrong people.” Her words don’t assuage the guilt gnawing at me, and I look away, but she tucks her fingers under my chin and pulls my gaze back to hers. “However... until you’re ready to come forward, she won’t find out who told me.”

Still doesn’t ease the guilt, but at least I have a chance to try and figure out how to tell North ― and Simon ― the truth, _without_ hurting or losing either of them.

“You’ll save her?” The words are off my tongue before I even register them in my mind, and Shapiro’s expression softens just noticeably, hinting at a deep, inner sadness.

“I won’t rest until she’s free; you have my word.”


End file.
